I Think I Love You by Layne Lauren

Author:Layne, Lauren
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781472250179
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2018-07-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

“I’m surprised you’re not out there,” Hunter’s father said, jerking his chin toward the Central Park ice rink. “You used to love to skate.”

Hunter smiled. “It’s been a few years since my hockey days. Plus, I think Malik much prefers his first ice-skating experience to be with a pretty girl than with his adult foster brother.”

Hunter, his family, and Brit had opted to take a post-brunch walk through Central Park. Malik had seemed fascinated by the ice-skating rink, but the second Hunter’s mom had suggested he and Hunter rent skates, Malik had deemed ice-skating lame.

Brit, however, had seen the longing on the kid’s face and, under the guise of begging for someone to skate with, had coaxed the kid onto the ice.

She knew what she was doing, Hunter had realized, the second she stepped onto the ice. She knew how to skate. How had he not known that?

He and his father were silent for a moment, watching as Brit and Malik slowly, awkwardly, made their way around the outside of the rink, where the beginner skaters were. The two of them had linked arms, which allowed the new-to-skates Malik to cling to Brit rather than hug the wall.

She was saving the kid quite a bit of his macho-teen pride. But, then, that was Brit. She knew exactly what to do to make people feel good. To make them comfortable.

Isn’t that what she’d said at the start of all this? That she made people too comfortable and that’s why men never saw her as girlfriend material?

She was wrong.

Hunter had felt anything but comfortable last night. First, watching her lean in to that blah-faced guy whose name he’d already forgotten. Then their fight.

Her in a tank top that had clung to what seemed to be rather perfect breasts.

Hunter stifled a groan at the memory.

His dad looked over at him as he shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “You bored? We can collect your mother, call Malik in.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Hunter said. “Besides, I don’t think we could drag Mom away from her fascination with that artist.”

They both looked over to where Gail had joined a small group of spectators gathered around a lanky woman set up behind an easel, apparently painting the scene on the ice in front of her.

“She’s been big into all kinds of art since you kids left,” Hunter’s dad said. “Watercolors, mostly.”

Hunter nodded, and they lapsed into silence for a few moments.

It wasn’t that he was awkward around his father, but things had been a little tense between them over the years. His father had never said so outright, but Hunter suspected it bothered him that Hunter had opted to chase his dreams to New York rather than stay in Missouri and help with the family business.

Hunter’s grandfather had started a boutique furniture service years ago. Woodwork, mostly. Coffee tables, desks, that sort of thing. They did good business, especially in an area where Ikea reigned supreme.

Hunter’s older brother had taken over a lot of the product design,

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